Captured Boxed Set: 9 Alpha Bad-Boys Who Will Capture Your Heart (73 page)

I BREATHED A lungful of crisp Milan
air as we left the ornate building where the fashion show was held. For late
summer, the temperature danced with chill rather than heat. The night had
finally claimed the day. It didn’t get dark until ten p.m., so it was late for
me. This time of evening, I would normally be buried under a mound of cotton
with a chalk pen and scissors deciding what my next creation would be.

Coldness darted through my
blood—not from the cool breeze but from
him
. The silent, foreboding man
walking soundlessly beside me.

Who is he? And why don’t I trust
a thing about him?

Studying him in my peripheral
vision, he seemed to give off two personas. One, a cordial, well-dressed
gentleman who looked as though he’d stepped through a wormhole from some
ancient century. And two, an assassin who moved like a dancer only because he’d
been taught the art of war and murder from the crib.

No words were spoken. No dalliance
or small talk. His silence was strangely welcomed and hated. Welcomed because it
meant I could focus on my vertigo and not let stress topple me over, hated
because I wanted to
know
him. I wanted to know why my father had vouched
for him and just where the hell he was taking me.

"I don’t believe you," I
said, my voice slicing through the crisp evening like the truth masquerading as
a lie.

Even in the gloom, with only street
lights for illumination, his eyes were bright and such a light brown they
seemed otherworldly. His eyebrow rose, but no other interest showed on his
face. "What don’t you believe?" He fanned his arm to the left,
indicating for me to travel that way.

My feet behaved, tottering
obediently in the black velvet heels, but my brain swam with a sudden gyroscope
of vertigo. I focused hard on the diamond glinting on Jethro’s lapel.
Find
an anchor. Hold on tight. Do this and you’ll be alright.
The stupid rhyme
echoed in my brain. My brother had made it up when we were eight after I’d
broken my arm falling off the bottom step of our porch.

"That you convinced my father
that you’re dateable material." I bunched the front of my skirt, wishing I
could’ve changed before traipsing through Milan in a couture dress. "You
either bribed him or threatened."

Just like you’re threatening me
with your silence and imposing attributes
.

"Threatened….interesting word."
His voice positively purred. Placing his hands into his pockets, he added, "And
if I did? What difference does it make? You’re still here—with me—alone.
Dangerous, really."

The footpath decided to roll
beneath my suddenly unsure feet.
Breathe. Get it together.

Heroines in books were portrayed as
quaint and lovable if they were clumsy. I had more bruises and scrapes from
falling and slamming into things than I would ever admit, and there was nothing
quaint about it. I was a hazard. Especially if I had a pair of wickedly sharp
dress scissors in my hands and stood up too fast. Anyone in a two metre radius
was in danger if my brain decided to throw me helter-skelter into a wall.

It was also a huge inconvenience
when faced with an overbearing stranger who just used the words
alone
and
dangerous.

"Dangerous isn’t a good word,"
I muttered, allowing a little physical distance to grow between us.

"Stupid isn’t a good word
either, but it’s been echoing in my head."

I slammed to a halt. "Stupid?"

Jethro glided to a stop, looking so
cultured and sharp I had a terrible urge to rip his jacket or ruffle his hair.
He was too perfect. Too collected. Too
restrained
. My heart stuttered.
What
exactly is he restraining?

"You say I threatened your
father as there’s no other explanation as to why you’re standing here with me.
I say if you feel that way, then you’re stupid for agreeing. It was
you
who
took my hand, you who followed me from the crowd to empty streets."
Leaning down, his eyes narrowed. "Stupid, Ms. Weaver. Very stupid indeed."

I should’ve been insulted. Beyond
livid at being ridiculed and slandered, but I couldn’t deny the idiocy of my
situation. I’d meant it as a joke, sort of, but how could I ignore the truth
blazing bright in his dark words?

"I’m twenty-four, Mr. Hawk,
and you were the first man my father agreed I could spend an evening alone
with. If it makes me stupid to want something I’ve been denied all my life,
then yes, I guess I’m incredibly stupid. But you’ve just proven that no matter
how much I wanted freedom, I love my family more, and I didn’t say a proper
goodbye."

The sudden need to see V and my dad
overwhelmed me. Something morbid inside taunted with the horrible thought I
would never see them again. I knew it was ridiculous, but I couldn’t fight the
drive to leave.

Glaring at Jethro and his imposing
silence, I sucked in a breath. "This was a mistake. I’m sorry."

Gathering my train, I spun on my
heels and stalked toward the huge portico and arched doorway. Blessedly my head
remained clear and my feet suffered no stumbles or falls. The heaviness of my
train billowed in the rush. My heart thudded with anxiety. I had no logical
explanation why I suddenly needed to be around people again, but I couldn’t
deny the strong pull toward family.

Jethro didn’t say a word. He stayed
statuesque and proud in the evening darkness.

With every step I took, I expected
him to call out or find some way to stop me. He didn’t seem like a man who
accepted no for an answer. But only silence followed, pushing me faster toward
the door.

The moment I stepped through the
polished entry and into the hive of heat and voices, I plucked my phone from my
cleavage. There was one person in particular I wanted to speak to. A stranger
I’d never heard or seen. My father had allowed me one night of freedom. I
didn’t want it with Jethro, but I did want it with someone else. I felt like
Cinderella waiting for the clock to strike midnight.

Maybe Kite lived close by? His
number prefix said he dwelled in the United Kingdom. Like me. It wasn’t a long
flight to get back home.

I’d lived in London all my life,
moving from the outskirts to downtown five years ago. The Weaver empire had
always been based in London—right from conception. And probably always would
be—if business continued to boom.

I opened a message to Kite007.

Needle&Thread:
Sorry I
didn’t reply before, I was busy cementing my career and ensuring I have a
lifetime of servitude and sewing
.

I sighed, staring at the words.
They sounded whiny and ungrateful, which I wasn’t. Plus, the unsaid rule
between us was no personal information. I didn’t know what he did for a living
or his real name or favourite food. Sex messaging was a void with no depth.

Which shows how lonely you are.

I scowled, deleting what I’d typed.
I wasn’t lonely. I had the best family and support in the world. I was
just…tired.
Maybe I should book a holiday somewhere hot?
Somewhere
where I can’t sew or design or get sucked back into work.
It sounded
great—but one problem. I didn’t want to be the loner around a pool on some
tropical island. I didn’t want to eat on my own by candlelight on the beach.

Take Vaughn.

I smiled. People already whispered
that our relationship was too close. Going on an island getaway? That would
definitely get the gossip columns buzzing.

My heart panged for the only
relationship I had and how shallow it was. There was so much I wanted to say:

I want to meet you.

Please, can we skip the
innuendoes and just talk?

I’m at the
Nila Coal and Fire Exclusive
in the heart of Milan. I want to go
for a drink with you.

I want to get to know you.

I couldn’t type any of that as it
was against the rules. The unsaid rules hinted at by Kite. No personal details.
No over-sharing. No information of any kind but sex. Damn rules. Damn life. Damn
men.

The sharp smell of champagne and
lull of laughter cocooned me; my fingers flew over the screen.

Needle&Thread:
All I can
think about is you and your wandering hand. I’m mad at you for coming without
me, but not mad because you came while thinking of me. I’ve had a long night
and plan on releasing my tension the moment I’m alone.

A cynical smile twitched my lips.
Kite would think I meant self-pleasuring. I really meant hitting the treadmill
and running until my legs turned to jelly.

My phone came alive in my hands,
jolting my attention to the glowing screen.

Kite007:
Me and my wandering
hand missed you. By a long night I’ll take it you mean on your knees servicing
God in prayer. (let a man indulge in the dirty thought) Message me when you’re
alone. I can help with your tension.

I looked up. Couples mingled;
groups gathered. Fashion was the celebrated highlight of the evening with
guests dressing in their absolute best. But it was smiles and genuine happiness
that made the evening glow. I missed being happy. I hadn’t laughed or smiled
properly since Mum left. I could never understand how she could love us as much
as she claimed, then switch off her heart…just like that.

When she’d returned from her
disappearance to file for divorce from my father, she’d ruined him. Completely
and utterly stole his heart and shot it to pieces on the lobby floor.

I remembered that day. I remembered
thinking she’d returned with such a pretty necklace. So sparkly, it’d blinded
me when she blew kisses as she walked out the door the final time.

Ever since that day, I’d been
afraid of love. Afraid of the pain it could cause and how easily something so
pure could turn into something so filthy.

Anger filled me. Anger I rarely let
myself indulge in. I would never admit the pain my mother caused, but it was
the driving force behind my workaholic nature. It was the catalyst of my life
that turned me into the woman I was.

Alone. Afraid. Angry. So damn
angry.

Sliding my fingers across the
keypad, I sent an impulsive message.

Needle&Thread:
What if I
don’t want to be alone? What if I wanted help physically rather than a
meaningless text? Would you help then?

I probably shouldn’t have sent it.
I already knew his response. But what was so wrong with me that no man wanted
to face the wrath of my father and take me for a drink? I didn’t have boobs or
hips or experience…but I was willing to learn.

Jethro stood up to him.

I frowned, clutching my phone. That
man didn’t count. He was as terrifying as my father, and his motives weren’t genuine.
He didn’t want to listen to my tales of woe over dinner. He wasn’t there to woo
me. He wanted something more. And it was the more I was petrified of.

Kite007:
Okay…whose balls did
you steal to write that? You know that doesn’t work with me
.
I’m not
some boy you can snap your fingers at and I’ll come running
.

Pain lacerated my chest but I
already expected it. Before I could reply, another message vibrated.

Kite007:
You just had to fucking
do that didn’t you?
What do you want from me? A commitment? A
relationship? You knew what this was. I thought you were having fun getting
off—same as me. Why ruin what we have?

My heart, the same useless organ
that’d never been in love, cracked with agony. His anger bled from my phone,
poisoning my hand beneath. Fantastic. The only outside interaction I’d had, and
it was over. But why his sudden viciousness?

Needle&Thread:
All I asked
was a simple question, but you jumped down my throat. What’s your deal? Don’t
tell me. I can guess. You’re only happy when you’re in charge. But guess what?
I can simply delete your number and never reply to you again. You were the one
who found me, remember?

I breathed hard, huddling over my
phone. I wasn’t done. It was refreshing to finally allow myself to be angry. I
wanted to pour it all out before I could swallow it back down again.