Captured Boxed Set: 9 Alpha Bad-Boys Who Will Capture Your Heart (74 page)

Needle&Thread:
I think you
need to come again, Kite. Your temper is completely uncalled for and
misdirected. All I implied was a meeting. One phone call. A kiss maybe if we
hit it off in person. Why is that so hard for you? I’ll tell you why. Because
you’re commitment phobic and a cheater.

"Congratulations on your
collection, Nila. I’m sure—"

I looked up into the eyes of a
stranger. The woman had plump lips and wore black eyeshadow.

She paused mid-sentence. "Are
you okay?"

I hated her concern. I hated that I
came across as some stupid wallflower who could make exquisite clothing but
never grace someone’s arm.
I don’t want to be here anymore
.

I needed fresh air. I needed
silence.

Him.

The silent masculinity of Jethro
Hawk suddenly called to me like a cooling balm after a burning fire. He might
scare me, but he had a body to touch and a mind to explore. Motives or not—he
wanted me for the evening. And I was feeling reckless.

"Yes, I’m fine. Excuse me."
Bunching my skirts, I dodged groups of people, heading for the exit. My phone
buzzed as I reached the door.

Kite007:
Don’t call me that. You
lost the right to call me anything the moment you changed from tempting to
annoying. I’m not a cheater or commitment phobic. And it’s not hard for me to
deny a meeting with you, because I already have women to fuck. I already have
enough physical connections and stupid girls making demands of me. You just
broke something that wasn’t broken. Congratu-fucking-lations.

My nostrils flared.
I
broke
it? There was nothing to break! This whole thing had been a mistake.
Unknowingly he’d taken advantage of some loser gasping for friendship. I was
done being that girl. I was done living life in black and white.

I wanted colour. I wanted passion.
And there was only one man who could give me what I wanted tonight. I would use
him and throw him away—just like Kite did to me.

Kite007:
If you didn’t know—that
was me cutting you loose. You’re acting like a brat. Go and get laid. That’s
what I’m about to do. You want to know things about me? How about this? The
woman I meant to text when I mistakenly messaged you is coming over for her
long overdue reward. Don’t message me again. The jerking off to your timid
replies has bored me. Whoops, I just lost your number….

My teeth gritted. My heart
thundered. Pain was swamped by livid rage. How
dare
he break up with me?
How dare he hurt me! How dare I let myself be hurt by a fucking arsehole who
I’d never met?

I didn’t care.
I don’t care
.

But I did care.

I’m so stupid!

Stopping in the entrance way, my
hands shook, jiggling my glowing screen. People mingled around, skirting the
huge puddle of black material from my dress. I stood surrounded, yet I was all
alone.

Tears pricked my eyes, but I swallowed
them back. It was my own stupid fault.
I’m so stupid. Stupid…

I sent my final message. 

Needle&Thread:
When you end
up alone and unloved, I hope you remember this moment. You aren’t breaking up
with me.
I’m
breaking up with
you
. Thank God I’m not a nun so I
can curse the very ground you walk upon. You don’t want to meet me? Fine. You
just got your wish. I’m done. (hope you wank so much your dick falls off)

Whirling around, I faced the
doorway—the same doorway leading to a man who was scary and cold and silent but
he was
real
. He had fingers to touch me with and a mouth to kiss. Who
cared who he was? I could be stupid and use him for my own release.

Tonight I wouldn’t be draining a
treadmill of life. Tonight I would be riding a man who terrified me in some
recess of my soul. Tonight I would be selfish and wicked and cruel.

Tonight…I would be Jethro’s.

I SAT ON my newest purchase,
resting like a mechanical shadow by the curb. It didn’t glint or gleam. It
didn’t entice or welcome. It waited in black silence ready to charge into the
night.

Give her options. Don’t make her
suspect. Threaten only when necessary. Above all, take her without causing
attention.

The rules my father told me the
morning I left to fly to Milan, repeated in my head. I was obeying. Even though
it was fucking hard. I struggled to balance my true nature with that of a
polite gentleman, coaxing a skittish woman out for dinner.

As if I would be interested in a
girl like her. Meek. Skinny. Beyond fucking sheltered it was insane.

Grabbing the throttle of my bike, I
waged with ignoring my father’s rules and stalking into the venue and stealing
Nila Weaver in front of everyone. She could scream, shout—it wouldn’t make a
difference. But that wasn’t
allowed
.

The other option was I could just
fuck off and kidnap her from her hotel room.

She has to come willingly.

My father’s voice again. Kidnapping
was the last resort.

I growled under my breath.

I’d let her go, not because of some
decency, or concern of what would happen to her family’s happiness, or even the
upcoming pain in her future. No, I let her go, because I was my father’s son
and followed a plan. But there was a deeper reason, too.

I was a hunter. Skilled with both
bow and arrow and gun. I stalked the weaker and slit their throats when they
succumbed to my careful aim.

But sometimes I liked to…miss. I
liked to give them a small window of safety, all while closing the noose when
they didn’t expect it.

I liked to play with my food.

The chase was the best part.
Hunting was intoxicating. And knowing I had the power to snuff out Nila
Weaver’s life the moment I caught her gave me a certain…thrill.

That was the only reason I
restrained myself and followed the rules.

I had no secrets of why I would
stain my hands with her blood. I had no misplaced vendettas or agendas.
Everything that would come to pass was for one simple and undisputable fact.

There was a debt to be paid. And I
was the method of extraction. Plain and simple.

I’m a Hawk. She’s a Weaver.

That was all I needed to know.

In the library a week ago, while
sipping on a ten thousand pound bottle of cognac, my father proceeded to tell
me a little of our history. He told me gruesome things. Dastardly things. Tears
shed. Blood spilled. He told me what happened to Nila’s mother.

He also told me why every firstborn
Weaver girl had a stain upon her life. I understood it. I accepted it. I was
given the task to uphold my family’s honour. And I fully intended to extract
payment as meticulously and as painfully as possible.

It wasn’t often I was given the
opportunity to make my bastard of a father proud. I didn’t intend to let him
down.

Even though I wouldn’t enjoy it.

Liar. You will enjoy it.

A tight smile twisted my lips.
Fine. I would enjoy it. Nila Weaver would be my greatest trophy. I might not be
able to display her head on my wall once I was through, but I would treasure
the memories. Something told me I would no longer find pleasure in hunting
hapless deer after I’d hunted a woman.

Oh, yes. I would enjoy ruining
Nila, because I liked breaking things. But not in a gruesome barbaric way. I
liked to break them smoothly, gently, ruthlessly. I liked to think I
transformed creatures from their present to their potential.

Pity once Nila was transformed she
wouldn’t be allowed to enjoy her evolution. She would be dead. That was the
final toll. That was her future.

To kill something so naïvely pretty…

It made me angry in a way to think
of such delicate perfection snuffed out. But there was no point thinking of the
end when the chase had just begun.

"Nice bike."

My head snapped up, eyes locking
onto my prey. The same prey who’d run yet returned.

She’d returned?
I was right
before. She truly is stupid.

Nila drifted forward, threading and
unthreading her fingers. I didn’t move or utter a sound. She responded to my
silence—like everything. I’d learned that cursing and yelling could be
frightening—but silence…it was the empty void where enemies’ fears polluted.
Stay quiet long enough and horror would be struck with one whisper instead of a
multitude of profanities.

She waved at my bike, her eyes
wider than before…darker than before.

Deciding to grant her a reply, I
said, "It’s my version of accessorising." The Harley-Davidson was a
new purchase. Sleek and sharp, nicknamed The Little Black Dress.

Stroking the throttle, I tilted my
head. Her dusky skin had colour. Her pronounced cheekbones were flushed,
trailing residual temper down her neck. Something had happened. Something had
upset her.

Did she find her father, only for
him to disown her and send her back to me?

I frowned. Could Archibald Weaver
truly send his only daughter not once, but twice, to her death? He knew what
awaited her. He knew what would happen if he didn’t give her up. But was family
honour that strong? Or was there more to this debt than I’d been told?

Either way, it was time to go. Time
to begin her nightmare.

"You returned."

She nodded. "I returned. I
want something from you. And I’m not going to be shy about asking."

A flicker of surprise caught me
unaware. She came across shy and timid, but there lurked steel in her voice.
Little did she know what I wanted from her in return.

"Fair enough. I have something
to discuss with you."

Don’t make her suspect
.

"What?"

Your future. Your death.

"Nothing important, but we
need to go."

Time to begin. The time is nigh
to pay your debts.

Nila came closer, shedding the
tameness, and embracing courage. I would’ve been intrigued if I didn’t already
know everything about her. 

Such a silly girl. A silly toy.

Whatever she wanted from me, I’d
oblige. After all, she’d been given to me to do as I pleased.

And everyone knows you don’t
give a pet to a killer
.

 "GET ON."

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

Jethro didn’t move. He didn’t look
condescending or annoyed or anything other than cold and collected. Nothing
seemed to interest him. I thought I could use him for sex? He didn’t look like
he knew what a smile was, let alone passion.

His legs bunched beneath the dark
charcoal of his trousers, steadying the heavy motorcycle between them. "I
said, get on. We’re leaving."

I laughed. What a ludicrous
suggestion. Waving down my front, I hoped he wasn’t blind, because no one could
ignore the kilograms worth of black diamantes or acres of material I wore. "I
struggled to get here in a limousine. There’s no way I can perch on the back of
a stupid motorcycle."

Jethro’s lips quirked. "Come
closer. I’ll fix that."

My heart jumped; I clutched my
phone tighter. No response from Kite.
Which is a
good
thing.
I
just had to keep telling myself that. I never wanted to hear from him again. "Fix
it how?"

"Come here and I’ll show you."
His eyes drifted down the front of my dress.

I’d been around powerful,
attractive men all my life. Both my father and brother were well known for
being eligible bachelors, but they lacked something that Jethro held in
abundance.

Mystery.

Everything about him spoke of
trickery and wile. He’d barely spoken, yet I
felt
his requests. For some
stupid reason, it felt as if he’d trained me with his silence to be alert,
ready, eager to please.

I hated his effortless power. 

Backing away, I shook my head. "I
won’t."

A small smile graced his lips,
golden eyes flashing. "That wasn’t very polite. I gave you a request,
kindly delivered, respectfully even." His fingers tightened around the
handle bars. "Should I ask again, or will you rethink your reply?"

A trickle of fear blustered down my
neck. I knew that glint in his eye. Vaughn would get it when we were younger.
It meant destruction. It meant getting their own way. It meant a world of pain
if I didn’t obey. And for some reason, I didn’t think a wedgie and being
tickled until I couldn’t breathe counted as pain in Jethro’s dimension.

Clutching the bodice that’d taken
me weeks to hand-sew, I took another step backward. Keeping my chin high, I
said, "I’m not being impolite; I’m stating the obvious. If you wish to
leave, we need a different method of transportation." Speaking so formally
sounded odd after screaming via text message to Kite. "And besides, I
don’t want to leave yet. I promised myself I’d ask you something, and I’m not
going anywhere until I do."

God, Nila. What are you doing?

Nerves attacked my stomach, but I
kept my stance. I wouldn’t back down. Not this time.

Jethro shook his head, displacing
his longish salt-and-pepper hair. His smooth face remained expressionless with
patience, but it didn’t relieve—it terrified. With precision born of wealth and
confidence, he kicked the stand down and placed the bike into a resting
position. Swinging his leg over the machine, he climbed the curb and hunted.

No. Don’t let him touch you.

I stumbled backward, a slight edge
of dizziness catching me off guard.

Jethro caught me, placing his
large, cold hands on my waist.

I froze, breathing shallowly.
Shoving away the moment of wobbliness, I fixated on his strong jaw and glinting
diamond pin.

The temperature of his touch seeped
through the ruffles on my hips, bringing with it fear manifesting like icicles
over an innocent dawn.

"What’s wrong with you?"
Jethro jerked me closer, peering into my eyes. The first sign of animation
lurked in their golden depths. It wasn’t concern though, merely annoyance. "Are
you ill?" Annoyance turned to carefully hidden anger.

I swallowed hard, hating my
condition all over again. To him, I would come across as weak. He wouldn’t
understand the strength it took to live a normal life while shackled to an
improperly balanced form. If anything, it made me stronger.

"No, I’m not ill. Not that
you’re worried for my health." Twitching in his hold, I searched for a way
free. But his touch only tightened. Blowing a blue-black strand from my eye, I
added, "It’s not contagious. I suffer from vertigo. That’s all. Google it."

That’s all. I scrape my knees if
I get out of bed too fast and faint if I swivel my head too quick, but that’s
all.

Jethro scowled. "Perhaps you
shouldn’t wear such heavy clothing." He plucked the dense material and
delicate stitching on my waist. "It’s a hindrance and delaying my night’s
activities."

My eyes flared. Night’s activities?

Perhaps he had the same conclusion
of where we’d end up? Captive in his strong hands, I stared up. I wasn’t short
for a woman, but Jethro had at least half a foot on me. He didn’t move, only
watched as if I were an interesting specimen he couldn’t decide to enjoy or
throw away.

My breathing grew shallow the
longer he held me. Dropping my gaze to his lips, it didn’t help my anxiety at
having them so close.
It’s now or never.

I knew nothing about him. He scared
me. But he was a man. I was a woman. And once, just once, I wanted pleasure.

"I want something from you,"
I murmured.

He stilled. "What exactly
makes you think you’re in a position to ask something of me?"

I shook my head. "I’m not
asking."

A moment thickened between us. His
nostrils twitched. "Go on…"

"Take me for a drink. I want to
get to know you."

Not quite what I wanted to ask,
but I couldn’t be so bold.

He laughed once. "Believe me,
Ms. Weaver, I’ll save you from a mundane conversation. The most you’ll ever
know about me is my name. Everything else…let’s just say, ignorance is bliss."

His aftershave of woods and leather
came over me again. The chilliness in his gaze warned not to push, but I
couldn’t help myself. Not after the way Kite treated me.

"Bliss…that’s a word I don’t
understand."

Jethro cocked his head, the trace
of annoyance coming again. "What exactly are you trying to do?"

A rush of wobbliness hit me. I
looked over my shoulder at the café across the street. "Have a nightcap
with me. Over there." I motioned with my head. I didn’t care in the least
I wore a huge gown or that the coffee shop was empty. The couch in the window
looked comfy, and I wasn’t ready to have this small freedom destroyed.

He looked to the small venue, a
flicker of confusion filling his eyes. "You—" Cutting himself off, he
straightened and let me go. "Fine. If that’s all you want, I see no reason
why I can’t prolong our true agenda for thirty minutes." Capturing my
elbow, he half-dragged, half-marched me across the street.

My heart sank at the lack of
romance and anticipation. I’d hoped he’d relax a little—knowing I was
interested—and drop the chilly façade.

What if it’s not a façade?
His demeanour was steadfast and engrained. I doubted he’d ever been
carefree or impulsive.

The propulsion was fast, too fast
for someone like me with the balance of a damn butterfly, but his hold was firm
and granted a certain safety.

Striding over the curb, Jethro
yanked open the glass door, scowling at the bell jingling above. A young
Italian girl looked up, smiling in welcome.

The rich aroma of coffee and warmth
instantly stole the stress from my blood from Kite, the show, and Jethro’s
company.

"Sit." Jethro let me go,
pointing toward the faded yellow settee with purple and orange throw cushions. "And
don’t move."

I stood frozen. Jethro had no wish
to be here, especially with me. What the hell was going on? First my father
pushed me on him, then Jethro barely tolerated my company.
Am I that
repulsive to the opposite sex?

"Wait," I said. "Aren’t
you going to ask what I want?"

Jethro raised an eyebrow. "No.
Want to know why?"

I did. But I didn’t want to play
his ridiculous game. I was tired, had been dumped via text, and not wanted even
when I practically threw myself at him. The night had turned from promising to
disastrous, and I wanted it over.

When I didn’t reply, Jethro waved
his hand. "It doesn’t matter what you prefer in beverages. You only get
one request and you got it. I’m here against my plans; therefore, you’ll drink
what I give you."

My mouth parted, amazement stealing
my ability to shout the incomprehensible phrases jumbled inside.
Seriously?
Who was this man?

Jethro strode away, leaving me
gawking at his powerful back dressed in an immaculate, tailored suit. He
completely ignored me while he ordered.

Not wanting to stand like a
dismissed damsel, I moved to the couch and sat in a cloud of midnight-galaxy
material. The underwire and other tricks to keep my dress buoyant argued
against sitting, but my feet breathed a sigh of gratefulness.

Jethro returned with two cups of
coffee. Espresso. Tiny cups, no biscotti, or anything to prolong something he
obviously didn’t want to do. Placing the hot drink in front of me on the low
table, he sipped his own, glaring at me over the rim.

I broke eye contact, collecting the
cup of black liquid. Truth be told, I hated coffee. I’d only suggested the café
to delay whatever he’d planned that was so urgent. Maybe he was a publicist,
there to show the tabloids I was passionate about living as well as fashion. If
that was the case, shouldn’t he be nicer? Kinder?

Inhaling the strong caffeine, I
pretended to sip while sneaking glimpses at the mystery beside me. Did it
matter he was an arrogant arse who didn’t know the difference between cruel and
polite? He had a killer body, distinguished good looks, and a presence that screamed
domination in the bedroom. I could choose worse for a night of guilt-free sex.

Sitting taller, I said, "So…the
thing I wanted to ask you…"

What are you doing? He’s not a
nice person. And he’s got the patience of a Doberman.

Jethro clenched his jaw, swirling
his coffee. "I won’t answer, do, or respond to any more requests. Drink
your coffee. We’re running late."

I ignored that. I adopted a ‘don’t
ask about the future and why the almighty rush approach.’  Working on another
approach, I tried to break the ice between us. "You seem to know my
father. What obligations—"

"No questions." Jethro
tossed his head back, swallowing the double shot in one go. Licking his lips,
he carefully placed his cup on the table, eyeing my untouched one.

The unease of why my father had
permitted me to go out with such an insensitive bastard came back. I feared
there was a lot I wasn’t aware of, drifting around like a hapless child while
adults battled over my future.

Running a hand through his greying
hair, Jethro suddenly shoved my overflowing skirts off the couch and slid
closer. So close his body heat seared my naked arms, prickling me with
intensity.

I gulped, curling my hands in my
lap.

Jethro bristled. "Whatever you
think you’re doing, it won’t work. I will neither make small talk nor enter
into meaningful conversation. You request to visit a coffee shop, yet don’t
touch what I bought you." He sighed, tension tightening his eyes. "I’m
done playing silly games. Tell me what I need to do to make you come without
making a fuss, and I’ll do it."

My heart stopped. Anxiety roared
back into existence. Why had I thought I could seduce this man? I had no hope,
especially when he was obviously pissed off rather than intrigued. Linking my
fingers together, I said quietly, "Why would I make a fuss? Where exactly
do you want to take me?"

Please say a hotel and admit
your attitude is all an act. Please say my brother hired you to play the
horrible arsehole only to sweep me off my feet in a night of escorted bliss
.

I should’ve known better than to
wish for such things.