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CAPTURE
Flora Dain
THE WOLFE: BOOK 3
Copyright
Mischief
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
Copyright © Flora Dain 2014
Cover design: Head Design 2017, cover images: Shutterstock.com
Flora Dain asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Ebook Edition © 2014 ISBN: 9780007579600
Version: 2017-08-21
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
More from Mischief
About Mischief
About the Publisher
CHAPTER ONE
Nowadays all it takes is a look.
It’s New Year’s Eve. We’re having a Ball – literally. But a man keeps looking at me from across the room. Nothing too obvious, just catching my eye every now and then. But it’s very disturbing.
Correction – he’s very disturbing.
I should be pleased. People should look. It’s a gala occasion. I’m wearing a gown that cost more than I earn and jewels way out of my league. We’re a blitz of glitz here – New York’s Four Seasons at its finest.
Darnley never does things by halves.
The guests are the cream of the East Coast courtesy of his family, a shot of early-settler blueblood from mine, plus a sprinkling of West Coast celebs from his brother Eldon’s on-off movie contacts.
But that man’s gaze is deep and dark. Very unsettling.
I’m trying to be civilised. I’m a professional person. I should have more self-control, not come apart at one look.
He’s noticed. He’s coming over.
His gaze sweeps over me as he prowls through the guests. The crowd melts before him. Somewhere deep inside, so do I.
I should call security.
Wait. He is security.
‘Ready?’ His voice is like hot velvet.
A prickle of fear raises the down on my arms.
‘I’ll take that as a yes.’ The heat in his eyes makes me shiver. So does the touch of his hand on mine as he guides me up to the stage.
All the clocks, artfully placed among the banks of flowers and balloons to celebrate tonight, start to chime midnight.
It’s the start of a New Year and for us a new era.
At a drumroll from the orchestra, silence falls around us and he starts to speak. His voice flows around me like dark honey and echoes through the vast room. He sounds casual, urbane. He could have been an actor.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve an announcement to make. I’m sure you’ve all guessed it, but here goes. Ella and I are getting engaged. Happy New Year, everybody.’
Balloons tumble down, cheers rise up and he captures my mouth. Our kiss is all too brief and all too hot. A heady foretaste of what’s to come.
* * *
‘You look terrific in that.’ His low murmur thrills through me as we hurry out to the main exit where his car’s waiting to ferry us to his jet. His hand grips mine, his burning look turning my gown into liquid sex.
‘You too.’ I grin, weak with relief – and that kiss.
But I’m still angry.
Behind us, back in the ballroom, New Year’s now in full swing, but we’re cutting things short. We’ve got other plans.
Since we got here tonight our attention has been all on family and friends. His parents, Aaron and Lydia, are here along with my friend Billy and Eldon, Darnley’s brother – and various relatives and business people.
Even my parents are down from Maine. This is a real treat for them. We spent Christmas with them when Darnley proposed, so they know all about it. I was glad to see him blend into our quiet lifestyle and soak up some of my Mom’s wholesome New England cooking – she goes to town in the kitchen on the rare occasions they have guests.
Even Darnley seemed to relax. Old-fashioned home comforts have been sadly lacking from his life.
‘Hey. We’re here.’
He seizes my hand and I jerk out of my reverie. As we step out of the car an icy wind whistles through the fenced-off section of JFK where his jet awaits, crouched on the runway like a gleaming insect.
His driver drops a thick wrap over my shoulders as I pick my way across the icy tarmac. In the distance all around us light sparkles off the banks of soiled snow cleared from the runway.
I shiver in the sharp cold as Darnley hurries me up the gangway. We shake hands with the crew just inside the low, curved doorway. As we settle into our seats we’re already taxiing in a slow curve, setting off towards the long row of double lights waiting to guide us out into the sky and send us west.
We’re off to California.
* * *
The Cessna’s on loan from Aaron. It will refuel at some point. I wasn’t paying attention. I was admiring the extras laid on for our in-flight entertainment – champagne on ice, low, dreamy lighting, satin drapes, a bed – and planning the next stage of my campaign.
We’re in the middle of a raging fight. The Ball was only a brief lull in our battle. Now the gloves are back on.
When the crew finally retire to the fore and aft of the plane to continue their tasks, he closes a small padded door and ushers me into the cushioned privacy of what will be our sleeping quarters for the next few hours.
Not that sleep’s too high on our list.
‘So?’ I glare at him across the soft, satin-lined cabin. ‘When are you seeing one? You promised, Darnley. You promised you’d see one as soon as we were engaged. It’s a –’ Crossly, I search for the right word here.
‘Condition?’ His steady, amused gaze is less than helpful. So is this pointed reference to the bracelets he gave me. Their conditions are mega-significant and sometimes deliberately – and deliciously – painful.
‘It’s a deal-breaker.’ There, I’ve said it. And if he wants to make something of it, let him.
Instantly he does. I see his eyes narrow.
‘Really? Interesting. So when you wear my bracelets I can set conditions, but when you wear my ring you can “break the deal”? How does that work? Hey!’
He pins my wrists behind my back with one hand, his fingers closing round them in a grip just this side of uncomfortable. ‘Here’s the deal. When I see a shrink it’ll be one of my choosing and in my own time. That suit?’
He doesn’t wait for an answer as his mouth finds mine. I should fight this … but now his arms are winding around me, feeling my curves, fondling my valleys, his sure touch sending ripples through me, little pulses that any minute will spark into arousal.
The ground I was so sure of only seconds ago is slipping away.
When he pulls back he’s smiling down at me. When he speaks his voice purrs through me. ‘And guess what? My first choice is right here.’
He finds my mouth again, and now he’s quit my wrists and he’s exploring me, intimate and urgent, warning me that fighting’s off the table but something else is very much on it. What’s more, his sardonic look warns me we’ve still got issues. Like not wanting a Ball in the first place.
‘So how did it go? Not so bad, was it?’
I swallow. I’d wanted something quieter, more private. It had led to a battle of wills as he insisted on a blaze of publicity.
‘I want everybody to know. And I want everybody impressed. You should too.’
‘But I don’t want to be in the public eye all the time. Can’t we just text them? Send them a postcard?’
His fury had been startling – then, as he followed it up with some energetic and very specific attention, glorious.
‘No way. Get used to it. That’s how we do things.’ He’d raised his head from between my thighs, his mouth still moist with my fulsome, unbidden response to his powerful argument. ‘Besides, it’s our special night. I’m not having you look back years from now and accuse me of not doing things properly.’
Years? With him I never dare look beyond the next two hours.
I smiled down at him and touched his face, his scowl warning me that my small-town New England ways would have to take a back seat for once – maybe for ever. And that just then he had more important things to do, like what he was doing just then.
I swallowed, my will fading under his onslaught, my stomach muscles still rippling from the effect of his hungry tongue.
Do it later, I thought. Fight later. I need this. I tried one last time. ‘You must. You promised. You said you’d see a professional, Darnley. Even now you’re starting to remember, there may still be issues –’
I broke off with a gasp, derailed by an extra vicious jab from his hungry tongue.
‘Enough. I’ll find one in my own time, Ella. And in my own way.’ He was leaning on his elbows glaring down at me.
For a split second I froze. The steel in his tone is always a shock, even when we’re doing this.
‘OK. I get it.’ I stroked his tense forehead and ruffled his springy mass of fresh-washed chestnut hair, thrilling to the glimmer of little blond highlights that sparkled at the ends. ‘And don’t stop,’ I gasped, giving in as gracefully as I could with my legs splayed wide and my arousal pounding. ‘I was enjoying that.’
Now, as we face each other in the cushioned luxury of the private jet, his dark look demands an answer.
‘You’re right. It was a fantastic evening,’ I say quickly. Something burns deep down, something we’ve been putting off all evening.
Does he sense this? I lower my gaze at the sudden glint in his eyes. I feel my breath quicken. It’s an effort to keep my voice even, to talk normally. ‘And – it was great seeing everybody again.’
‘Meaning what? I’m not enough for you?’ His eyes gleam as he says this. He may be playing – maybe not.
I swallow. ‘That’s not what I meant. You –’
He smiles slowly. ‘I’m what? Twisting your words? You tear me apart when you look at me like that. How about a small thank-you?’
I was ready for this so I make a start on the rather big thank-you I’d already planned. With a slow, swaying motion I arch my back as I slip the sleeves of my gown a little way down my arms and then reach round to lower my zip. He watches, his eyes growing darker, as I slide the satin down further, move round slowly to bend low and unzip the rest, then turn and face him as I slide the satin down all the way.
As he sees me emerge from my clinging, costly gown his eyes widen briefly. ‘Wow.’
Tonight I’m wearing his diamonds for lingerie. I’d trusted to roughly a million dollars’ worth of bling to provide the support structure that evening gowns this pricey require. Rather to my surprise they’ve done pretty well. Now all I have to deal with is the liquid heat in his gaze as he sees his Christmas present turn into a perfect New Year offering.
‘And just so you know,’ I say gently, as I sink to my knees and free him from the taut imprisonment of his trousers, where I sense his arousal has been steadily building at much the same rate as mine, ‘I’m very, very grateful.’
To prove it I touch my lips reverently to his hot, silky shaft, which is already hungry for my mouth, and for a few delicious moments our battle is on hold.
All around us the low, throbbing hum of the engines closes us into our own private world as I explore him with my tongue, tease him when he tenses, lick gently when he groans. Soon I can see – from the tension building in the rippling muscles of his thighs – that he’s close.
‘Whoa. Let’s make this last.’ With a groan he eases away from me, smiling at me as I lean over to plant a brief kiss on the tip just as he pulls clear.
He raises me gently until I’m upright and finds my mouth once more, his hands exploring me now, reaching into every part of me, his touch urgent, his fingers squeezing, pressing, making me limp with desire as he finds all the places I want him to find and then finds them again and lingers. And slowly he presses me back against the mattress lying just behind us, and as my knees buckle under his weight and my will melts away in the white heat of his look I give myself up to him with the eager abandon of an alley cat.
When he finally plunges inside, his shaft huge and hot and wet from my kisses, my belly muscles haul him in like we’ve been apart for weeks. Every thrust is a surge of triumph, every retreat a mournful parting as he leans over me, his eyes burning into mine with the dark passion that’s been pent up all evening.
And as I climb ever closer to orgasm under his steady gaze I know now why his look is so disturbing, even across a crowded room – it reminds me of this. His dark, intent gaze is the living promise that he gives me, even in public places where words and touch are forbidden, that he loves me and needs me, all the time.
Soon, far sooner than I want, I spasm around him, tipping over the edge at the onslaught of his steady, pounding rhythm. Seconds after that he comes too, his deafening bellow his only response to the soft undertow of my rippling muscles.
‘Christ, Ella.’
* * *
Our journey takes a while. We refuel in Denver, make love and sleep and make love again. In between we eat, drink coffee, play cards, talk to friends and family while we take turns to tease and fondle, each daring the other to break up the conversation with a shout from him or a giggle from me.
When we finally arrive in a sun-kissed land under a wide blue sky, a million miles away from the deep winter of New York, we’ve a long drive up Highway 101 to reach our destination.
I’m blurry from sex and bewildered by the time zones when he finally tells his driver to slow down to show me the view.
‘There it is. See it, down there along the cliff?’
I grin up at him, pleased he’s so happy, eager and carefree as a boy. Then I blink. ‘But it’s massive. I thought it would be some kind of shack on stilts.’
‘I don’t do shacks.’ He’s laughing now, nuzzling deep into my shoulder, sending sparks of excitement all over me as I gaze out over the sleek glass palace that millionaires like him call a beach house.
But as we get closer I frown. On the longest wall, looking out over the bay, I see something odd.
‘That’s weird. Some kind of artwork?’
Weird though it looks to me it’s entirely possible that’s exactly what it is. His world’s a universe away from mine. I’d sooner not seem naïve.
But at my side I feel him stiffen. He pulls away from me and picks up his phone and now I sense that, art or not, something’s very wrong here.
He mutters into his cell, his tone low.
This is serious. Alarmed, I tune in to what he’s saying. He’s using the part code, part command string he uses for emergencies.
As we pull up outside the house, we gaze at it; him in silence, me in growing horror. All along the gleaming, white-glazed wall someone has scrawled a vast message in vivid scarlet paint. It’s been done in a hurry with a very thick brush. Trails of paint trickle down, still wet. Crude splashes of crimson spatter the immaculate driveway and pool in the cracks between the slabs.
This was done only minutes before we arrived.
‘Wel cum home fokes!’
From a distance it looks like a joke punctuation mark. But up close we see it’s a crude six-foot-high drawing of something else – something very much male. Below it thin rills of wet paint drip onto the driveway.
‘Whoa. Looks like somebody’s pleased to see us.’ I speak without thinking. Luckily – and for once in my life – it’s the right thing to say. Darnley’s hand tightens briefly on mine and then he grins. One of the men in the ashen-faced group hovering nearby actually laughs.
I glance at Darnley, heart in mouth. Will he freak? And now I get another shock – he’s looking at me, his expression troubled. ‘Ella?’
I step closer. Around us there’s a bustle as men rush forward to tackle the paint. Between us the intensity of his expression somehow creates a private, quiet place. He takes my hand in his and gazes deep into my eyes. ‘I meant to warn you before …’
‘Warn me?’
The touch of his fingers on mine is sending tingles up my arm. I press closer. All at once something flickers between us, hot and explicit. I see him swallow. ‘Talk later.’
He turns away and addresses his men, his voice louder now. The hard edge in his tone slices into the activity all around us. ‘I want to know who did this. Find out. And fast.’ For a second the air quivers and then his voice lowers. ‘And get this cleaned up.’
Once more they spring into action, but now I sense a shift in the air. His sudden command has changed things. What just happened?
CHAPTER TWO
‘Some homecoming.’ Darnley grins as he leads me indoors. ‘Kind of unplanned. Let’s hope we can make things up for you.’
I hardly hear him as I gaze round open-mouthed at what he calls a beach house. My first impression is of light and space. All the walls seem made of glass, all the views vast. The polished stone floor gleams softly in the sunlight flooding round us. It has ancient sea creatures embedded in it, polished to a perfect gleam. Beyond the windows, the beach curves round the headland like a giant yellow ribbon, sloping gently down from the house to meet the expanse of cool, blue-green ocean.
No artworks here, crude or real – just sleek walls and low furniture. But as the light changes I see the vast white wall opposite the entrance is decorated with some kind of giant mural sprayed in gold. It glitters like sunlight on water. But, as the light moves, portions of it vanish, so it seems to shift, like the ocean.
‘Like it?’
Darnley’s standing behind me, so close I start to tingle. I feel the hairs rise on my arms and I shiver. Excitement? Arousal? His touch on my arm, his warm breath on my neck, work on me like incense.
‘It’s stunning. It’s an original work?’
I feel his lips brush the side of my neck.
‘Got a guy in San Francisco to do it.’ He turns me slowly round to face him. ‘It’s got a kind of – hidden secret.’
For a long moment my gold-dazzled retinas see him only in shadow, a dark shape against the light as he slowly descends on my mouth.
When he pulls away he looks almost dazed. ‘Hey. Let’s talk art some other time.’ Once more he seizes my hand, then drags me behind him, making for the stairs.
He hurries me past a selection of pale, elegant rooms – a kitchen, a vast sitting area, even a TV room with a giant screen and a dozen rows of seats. Everywhere has vast windows and spectacular views.
In the bedroom the windows are draped in fine gauze, blowing gently in the soft breeze from the sea. The bed is low and pale, with a lower and paler bench running along the head and a sturdy-looking rail along the foot. Sturdy enough to take clips, rope or – cuffs?
Knowing his tastes I notice these things. A tiny part of me notes primly that once I’d have assumed merely dressing rooms, a hidden wardrobe. But now the mirrored wall opposite the bed hints at intricate, thrilling possibilities. My belly clenches at the thought of what we could do in here. Already he’s pulling me slowly towards him, his look dark and intense.
‘I’ve waited a long time to see you in here. Strip. I want to watch.’ He throws himself back onto the bed and leans on one elbow.
‘Do all your girlfriends do this?’ I’m only kidding, but as I say it I feel a twinge of fear. Suppose he says yes? Do I really want to know how many there are? How beautiful, how – exotic?
‘You expect me to answer that?’
I fight down a sudden wave of shyness. Is it the thought of showing my all in this vast glass palace, or simply being compared to – others?
So what? I’m here now. With a tiny thrill of possession I firmly ignore the vast mirror behind me and keep my eyes locked on his. My slim sweater, fine for travel in the chilly North East but a little warm this far south, peels away first. I tease him with it for a little as I start to wriggle out of my travel jeans and bend over a few times to show him the goods. As I reach back to unfasten my bra, getting into this now, his patience snaps and he pulls me gently towards him.
‘Enough. I’ll do the rest. Keep your hands over your head.’ He uncurls and rises to his feet in a single lithe movement that dries my mouth and shrivels my belly. As he towers over me, his dark gaze locked on mine, he swiftly removes my jeans, my panties, my bra and what’s left of my self-control. I can almost feel his heat.
‘Bend over.’
I feel a spike of alarm. ‘Now I thought we’d moved on from all that?’ The sudden gleam in his eyes hints he’s some way to go yet. The sudden flash of arousal deep down in me hints I have too.
We’re in Wolfe territory now. Rash words can make for sore backsides in the flash of his hand.
‘You did? Well, guess what – you were wrong. Head up, tits out. Put your hands in the small of your back and lean on the bed to balance.’
What follows is so hot and so sharp I’ve no idea how I manage not to yell. After the first few blistering seconds I drag in air and prepare to bellow but his hand’s punishing rhythm gets to me, so I hold off. Instead I breathe deep, willing him on, letting his ferocious energy fuel my fire. In minutes I’m burning up, inside as well as out, jolting with arousal at every blow, as his steady drumbeat jolts straight to my groin.
At last he stops, his breathing ragged from the sudden exercise. He shakes his hand with a rueful grin. ‘Wow. You’re coming on. I expected half the state in here from all the yelling.’
I swivel my head and eye him from under my lashes. ‘Is that what you wanted? State troopers joining in?’
His eyes glimmer. ‘Hey. Don’t give me ideas. The mood I’m in I just might. Now come up here.’
As he speaks he sheds his clothes, sending his boxers spinning across the room with a flick of his foot. He sprawls out along the bed and hauls me up on top of him, finding my mouth with a sigh of welcome that tells me how much he’s wanted this and, thrillingly, how much he’s wanted me here.
‘Ride me. Tease me first. Please, Ella.’
His soft request is a surprise – usually by this stage we’re long past the need for permissions. Eagerly I curve over his erection and lean forward to taste. It twitches in my mouth, glossy and hot, as impatient as me.
He lets out a low groan. ‘Whoa, easy. You’re too good. Now get yourself up here.’
I climb along him and lower myself onto his hot shaft with a low growl of pleasure. I put my hands on his shoulders and gaze into his slanted, intelligent face as he surges up inside me, his hot, hard length filling my belly, its shape losing focus as he thrusts, blending into the soft clutches of my lower muscles. Now all I feel is his heat and his drive.
The fire in his eyes spurs me on and I speed up to ride him. He jolts in response, his power and his strength overwhelming mine, his rhythm taking me over. In minutes he’s rolled over on top of me, taking charge with easy male grace.
‘Having fun?’ I mean to tease but instantly his expression clouds.
‘Ella? You’re right. What was I thinking? Ladies first. Fiancées especially.’
And to my joy he slows, grinding against me with the prowess of an athlete, his honed body slicing into me with his superior power and his urgent, pounding drumbeat until I’m scorching and ready, poised at the brink of massive, blessed release.
In seconds I come with kind of long, low moan, the feral call of my inner female. His answering grunt seals our pleasure and soon we’re lying full length, bundled together in love, as the sinking Californian sun paints us gold where its reflection shines from the mirrors opposite.
* * *
Later he shows me round the house. It’s even larger inside than it looks from a distance, so much of it hugs the low-slung cliff. From outside I see it’s built at an angle to capture the best views of the sea. It stretches down a couple of further floors for staff, garaging and deliveries.
We walk along the beach a little way and explore part of the cove. As we crunch along the shingle he skips stones across the water but his dark glances make me burn deep down as his answers to my eager questions – how did you find this place? – who else comes here? – get shorter and shorter. Finally I tail off as he pulls me close.
‘Hey, let’s eat. I’m starving. You can explore tomorrow. And I’ll show you your Christmas present.’
Our meal is light and fun, a platter of exotic seafood arranged by his Mexican cook – icy caviar, light and salt; small rosy shrimps, soft and sweet; oysters like liquid heaven. Darnley pours champagne and we sip from tall flutes and nibble rough chunks of fresh home-made bread, dipped in small bowls of pale melted butter and hot, tasty sauces. I make merry in his arms as the night grows late and he plays old blues records.
When we finally get to bed the quilt has been smoothed again, fresh flowers left in a bowl, the lighting low. But it’s a long time before we sleep.
* * *
I wake with a start in a shaft of moonlight. I can feel his arms folded around me. But all around us is a wall of noise, like wild, roaring thunder. ‘What the …?’
I stare wildly around as Darnley, heavy at my back, starts to stir.
In a panic I tear myself out of his arms and rush to the window.
A motorcycle is revving up outside. The noise is deafening.
I push aside the drape so I can see clearly.
Barely feet away, moonlight silvers the hard black outline of a huge bike, its rider covered from head to foot in black leather. When he turns his head he’s wearing goggles, his face unrecognisable. He looks like some giant, evil insect. And he’s grinning.
My stomach lurches and now I get a nauseous waft of exhaust fumes.
All at once light spills out from other parts of the house. I can hear shouts. The house is awake. But as footsteps start to ring out on the driveway the bike roars off.
I take a deep breath and lower the drape. ‘That was a shock. Do you often get stray tourists this close to the house at night?’ As I turn back to the bed my shaky smile dies on my face. I’m talking to an empty room.
Darnley’s in the en-suite, throwing up.
I can hear the engine noise fading into the distance. But in here the damage is done. The room is still acrid with exhaust fumes. And for some reason Darnley’s being sick.
‘You OK?’ I peer at him in alarm.
He’s leaning against the door frame. He’s shaking.
‘What the heck was all that noise? It sounded like …’
He sways. And all at once I understand. He’s thinking of Kraik, the tormentor from his childhood, cuffing him to a steering wheel and revving up the engine …
‘It’s OK,’ I murmur gently. I take his arm and am shocked to find him cold. ‘Come back to bed.’
When he’s stretched out beside me I twitch the quilt over him and dart into the en-suite to fetch him some water. By the time I’m back he’s asleep again but he feels like ice. I get in beside him, careful not to disturb him more than I must, and wind my arms and legs around him. As I settle my head on his chest he murmurs sleepily into my hair. ‘Something wake us up? That noise …’
I tighten my grip. ‘It was nothing. Bad dream.’
His soft, regular breathing tells me he’s already drifting off. Maybe tomorrow he won’t even remember.
But I lie awake for a long time, my arms clamped round him, my mind racing. Two scary incidents in one day? Is that normal out here? And as I finally drift into sleep another, even scarier thought hovers at the edges of my brain like an evil fairy.
Kraik again? I thought we’d moved on from that too.
* * *
‘Hey. Eat up your cereal like a good girl. I can’t wait to show you your present.’ Darnley’s already put away a plateful of ham and eggs and several slices of toast in double-quick time. I’m still toying with a bowl of sweetened cereal and sipping gulps of glorious, freshly squeezed orange juice from some local farm.
To my delight he seems to have forgotten about last night.
I make a note to ask the staff if bikers often stray from the highway or if that was just a one-off.
I learn my present is nearby and he waits impatiently while I haul a thin sweater over my tight jeans. It’s far warmer here than back home. We’re twenty degrees or so higher than my home state of Maine, currently in the throes of a massive blizzard. But it is still January. They have winter, even here. The sunshine has a spring-like crispness to it that warns me the wind’s chillier than it looks.
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