The Object of His Desire (erotic romance suspense) Read online

  The Object of His Desire

  PJ Adams

  James Grieve Press

  © PJ Adams 2013

  This eBook is copyright material and no portion of it may be reproduced or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author's and publisher's rights and those responsible may be liable in law.

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  Cover image © katalinks

  The contents of this book were previously published as four separate ebooks: Wanted, Pursued, Cabal and Her Desire.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Wanted

  Pursued

  Cabal

  Her Desire

  About PJ Adams

  More from PJ Adams

  Insatiable Reads

  Explicit erotica from Polly J Adams

  Wanted

  1.

  Even now, I’m unsure whether it was a genuine Jane Austen moment or the worst of clichés: eyes meeting across a crowded room, for heaven’s sake.

  What can I say?

  I was nervous, in a crowd of mostly strangers and distant acquaintances.

  I was feeling flustered after a difficult journey and finally arriving at this little chapel in the middle of nowhere later than I’d intended – I hate not being in control.

  I was unsettled by the rush of mixed emotions in my head. I was about to see my big brother again after far too long; despite following him across the Atlantic to England we’d drifted ever farther apart over the last couple of years.

  I was thrown by the realization that his best man was Charlie, the ex who could still wrap me around his posh little English finger after all this time.

  Under these circumstances a girl can surely be forgiven a lapse into cliché. No?

  §

  I’d driven for nearly four hours to reach this remote little Norfolk chapel. It had taken far too long to escape the tangle of London traffic, and even longer driving through the winding East Anglian lanes trying to find the place.

  Deep breath, Trudy. I was here. I’d made it on time.

  I stood outside the chapel and straightened my three-quarter length Anoushka G dress. Deep cornflower blue, with scooped neck-line and a lily fascinator pinned to my long auburn hair, even I’d admit that I felt good in my wedding outfit.

  I realized I was falling back on coping strategies I’d developed in my teens: a constant interior monologue of commentary and pep talks.

  You look good, Trude.

  That dress will make up for all sorts, and you can get away with those sucky-in Magic Knickers you bought in desperation, because you just know you’re the only one who’s ever going to see them.

  Nice shoes, by the way.

  Whatever it takes.

  I recognized a few of the faces of the guests milling around in the churchyard. They were Cambridge buddies of Ethan’s. When I’d first come over from New Haven, I’d hung out with him in his college halls for a few weeks before landing my temporary job at Ellison and Coles, a wonderfully quaint traditional publisher with offices just off Covent Garden, right in the heart of London.

  As we waited to enter the chapel, people smiled at me and nodded, but they were all in their own little groups and no one seemed particularly interested in me. I didn’t mind. I wasn’t in any mood for small talk, just yet. Instead, I checked my cell phone, only to find that there was no signal. I opened my mail just the same, and glanced through emails I’d already downloaded.

  “You’ve got signal? Or are you just bluffing so you look busy even though you’re here on your own and nobody’s talking to you?”

  I didn’t look round. I didn’t have to.

  “Bastard,” I said softly.

  “But a good-looking bastard, right? You always did say that I scrubbed up rather well.”

  I turned. Honey-blond hair, sharp blue eyes, and the way the tuxedo and neatly pressed pants hung on his lean body... I took a deep breath and tried not to find him attractive.

  Charlie didn’t look a day older than when I’d last seen him over a year before, ducking a flying ash tray as he backed out of the Islington apartment we’d shared back then.

  “Last time I saw you–”

  “You were a lousy shot. I only ducked to make you feel better about your aim. See? Even then I was looking out for you, babe.”

  “I only missed because I didn’t want blood on the carpet. It was deliberate.”

  “You preferred that dent in the door?” The ash tray had made a nasty gouge in the wood-panel door on impact. I’d never got round to fixing it: my little memento of the year with Charlie.

  “Okay, so I misjudged that one. I should have hit you with it.”

  “You look good, Trude.”

  “Too damned right I do. You think I’d come to my brother’s wedding and look like shit?”

  I was smiling by then. Our arguments went like that: they either got more and more intense or we’d end up laughing and wondering what we’d been fighting about.

  “It’s been a long time, Trude.”

  I leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. He smelt of Issey Miyake and cigarettes.

  “Shouldn’t you be inside with Ethan? I assume he’s turned up?”

  “Fresh air break,” said Charlie, tapping the cigarette-box-shaped bulge in the breast pocket of his tuxedo. “You know how it is.”

  “Haven’t you given that stuff up yet?”

  “Everyone’s got their vices, Trudy. Even you.”

  I raised one eyebrow and fixed him with a hard stare until he was forced to look away. If the occasional vodka and tonic too many and a tendency to over-stretch my credit cards on Karen Millen and Jimmy Choo were vices, then yes, Charlie had a point, but he was pushing it.

  I looked around again. The chapel was set in a stand of pine trees, a short distance from a sprawling country house, all tall windows and mock classical columns. The landscape was so flat here: fields stretching away to another line of dark pine trees, and the sea beyond. I don’t think I’d ever seen a landscape so haunting, so weighted down with sadness.

  “I need a drink,” I muttered. I don’t know why I was so tense. There was no bad feeling between me and Ethan; we just hadn’t seen each other for a while. A bit of awkwardness, that was all.

  “Later, Trude. Later.”

  “So how did my brother end up getting married in a place like this? Does all this belong to her family? Is that it?”

  One further element of embarrassment was that I’d never actually met Ethan’s fiancée, Eleanor.

  I didn’t know much about her at all. Very English, was how Ethan had described her on the phone, way back when they’d just started to realize they were getting serious. An English rose, Trudy. Can you believe that? Me, with my very own English rose?

  I thought he was a bit scared then, feeling out of his depth with this girl and her landed family and their English ways.

  “Family with money,” said Charlie. “It’s all about who you know. Connections.”

  That was when it happened. My Jane Austen moment. My cliché.

  My attention was snagged by movement in the chapel doorway and I turned, thinking Ethan must be emerging and now was the time for me to go and hug him and sweep away the distance that had grown between us.

  Instead,
it was a guy I’d never seen before.

  He was in a tux, this newcomer. He was about six foot, and his shoulders were square, almost as if he was wearing a quarterback’s shoulder pads. He was either an athlete or he spent far too much time looking after himself in the gym.

  So: first impression was okay, but nothing to write home about.

  And then... that Jane Austen moment.

  He peered around, as if lost, and then his eyes fell upon me. It was almost as if he recognized me, as if he’d been waiting all his life for me... but then realized he was mistaken, he didn’t know me at all – exactly that kind of double take.

  He looked away, and then glanced back.

  His eyes were dark, but when they settled on you it was as if you’d been fixed by a hawk. A raptor, eyeing his prey.

  I shook myself, made myself look away. I couldn’t believe I was actually blushing.

  Eyes meeting across a crowded gathering.

  It was a cliché. I was flustered by my late arrival and by the tense undercurrents of the occasion.

  That’s all it was.

  Nothing more.

  And yes, perhaps I protest too much.

  2.

  The moment passed.

  I looked more closely and decided I didn’t like what I saw any more. First impression: fit body and smoldering eyes. Second impression: yes, nice eyes and body, but... his suit was crumpled, as if he’d slept in it. His shirt definitely needed ironing; how does a shirt get so creased? His bow tie was crooked, and badly knotted. His jaw was matted with thick, dark stubble, and his black hair was tousled and in need of a good trim. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen a man who looked so unprepossessing.

  “What street did they drag that one in from?” I muttered, and Charlie gave a short laugh. “He could have at least made a bit of an effort. He looks like he’s come straight here from an all-nighter.”

  Then the newcomer spoke. “Right, folks,” he said, in a clear tone that cut through the hubbub of conversation in the churchyard. “Time to head inside. Nice and cool in there, and the bride’s on her way.”

  I turned to Charlie. “Who does he think he is? Isn’t that your job? You’re best man, aren’t you?”

  My ex snorted again. “That’s Will,” he said. “He’s like that. Don’t worry.”

  “But why does everyone pay attention to him like that?” Everyone had fallen silent when Will had spoken and now, as Charlie and I talked, they were all filing into the chapel.

  “That’s Will for you,” said Charlie. “Always gets what he wants.”

  Intrigued, I looked at the disheveled man standing in the church doorway as people passed. When his eyes met mine again, it was that raptor’s stare. I looked away, then slipped my hand into the crook of Charlie’s elbow and said, “Come on. Let’s go inside.”

  §

  As we passed him to enter the church, Will nodded at us. Charlie grunted and looked away. Bad chemistry, clearly.

  I met Will’s sharp gaze and smiled. There was something in those eyes: deep, dark pools that could swallow you up. Dark secrets. Mysteries...

  I looked away, and realized I was blushing again. Like a god-damned school girl! I didn’t know what had gotten into me.

  Dark secrets, indeed. There were big shadows under his eyes. Hangover eyes, that’s what they were. He was just some rough friend of Ethan’s, who’d probably come here straight from a party. Ethan’s bit of rough, that’s what he was!

  Stop it, Trudy: you’re obsessing. Straighten that back, find your confident walk – everyone’s looking.

  The chapel was tiny, the pews packed. I tried to pull away and stand at the back, but Charlie trapped my hand against his side and led me down the aisle to the front.

  Ethan...

  Tall, square, with a blond buzz-cut. He looked like a serviceman, home on leave to get married, not the owner of a little antiques shop in the back streets of Cambridge.

  He didn’t see me at first, and I clung to the thought that I could just slip into one of the pews and save the big reunion until later. Then he turned, as if he had sensed us approaching. He saw Charlie first, and opened his mouth to speak, and then he realized I was there, too, and – that beautiful moment when everything fell into place and I knew it would all be okay – his eyes met mine and he broke out into the widest, craziest grin, like when we were kids and Pop would bring home a box of Dunkin’ Donuts to make up for being late again. It had worked every time.

  “Sorry, bro’: no donuts.” Old family joke. Shorthand for Wipe that dumbass grin off your face before it sticks.

  I fell into his arms and, again, I was a kid, lost in my father’s strong arms. That same strength. Same man smell. Same voice even, as Ethan said, “Hey, kid. It’s been way way way too long.”

  Ethan: he was all the family I had.

  I held my big brother at arms’ length. He looked good. He’d put on a little weight, lost that haunted look he’d had as a student. “You good, bro’?”

  He nodded. “I’m good.”

  “And you’re sure about this? It’s not too late to make a run for it, you know. I’m parked just outside. We could out-run this lot to the car, easy. Look at them! We just need to use the element of surprise.”

  He laughed. “I’m good,” he repeated. “This is good. Now shut the fuck up and sit down, okay?”

  He said that a little too loudly, and earned a few disapproving looks, not least from the minister who was waiting in the wings.

  I kissed my brother on the cheek and then found a seat by Charlie on the front pew, righthand side. The groom’s side, but I was the only family here, unless you counted Charlie, who’d been something close to a brother to Ethan at Cambridge.

  I looked around: the pews on this side were occupied by those half-familiar from times I’d visited Ethan at college. The Cambridge crowd with their partners, all in grown-up suits and frocks. Joe and his brunette partner even had a small baby – when did that happen? Joe was one of Ethan’s college buddies I remembered fondly, so sweet and shy it had taken him ages to pluck up the courage to ask me out; I’d never have guessed he’d be the first to parenthood.

  On the bride’s side of the chapel there were some particularly gaudy dresses and head-pieces. I remembered what Charlie had said about the bride’s family: they owned land, they had money and connections. Ethan, too, had said that Eleanor came from a family with breeding and money. Was this the English aristocracy set loose for the day?

  Just then, Will approached us, leaning down to tag Charlie’s arm and mutter something to him that I didn’t quite catch, and then everyone rose to their feet.

  “Eleanor’s here, Trude,” said Charlie, close in to my ear. “Best behavior now, do you hear?” With that, he placed his hand on the small of my back. It was an intimate touch. Possessive. Proprietorial. It wasn’t as if he’d just run his hand down over my ass, but in many ways it was even more personal than that. More invasive.

  And I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. I hated the assumptions behind his touch; but I liked the contact, the sense of connection with someone else when I was feeling so vulnerable.

  His hand moved up my spine and rested again, as the bridal march kicked in and we both turned to watch Eleanor walking with her bent over white-haired father down the aisle towards my brother.

  I stepped aside, and Charlie’s hand fell away.

  As Eleanor advanced, I looked at Ethan watching her approach. His whole face had lit up. I couldn’t remember ever seeing him so happy. Apart from for Pop’s donuts, of course. It was a real Dunkin’ Donuts kind of moment.

  Eleanor was tall and raven-haired. Her long, almost blue-black hair was pinned up in an elaborate floral head-piece that suspended a delicate, misty veil across her pale features, her lips a slash of vivid red.

  Ethan’s English rose.

  Just across the aisle, I noticed Will again. It was like an itch: once aware of him, my attention kept being drawn back. Now, he was watching
Ethan and Eleanor closely. There was something wistful in his gaze, and I wondered then whether he was an ex of hers. Maybe that explained some of the undercurrents I’d detected between Charlie and him.

  I had a sudden image of Will and Eleanor together – another of the things I did, my imagination always vivid. Will with a fist buried in that long black hair, pulling her head back, his teeth dragging down the line of her throat, that thick stubble leaving a red trail of inflamed skin. His face, buried in her cleavage, his other hand cupping a breast, pushing it up to his eager mouth...

  I looked away, looked down, looked anywhere but at Will or Eleanor. I was blushing again.

  Charlie nudged me, grinning.

  “How long?” he whispered.

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “How long’s it been, eh, Trude?”

  Just then, the minister spoke up. “The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you.” His voice was oddly high-pitched and sing-song, and it was as if he was speaking directly to me, admonishing me for my wayward thoughts.

  Then, the congregation responded as one, catching me unawares: “And also with you.”

  I realized there was an Order of Service booklet, with the words and responses all printed out in some swirly, over-ornate font. This was the first time I’d been to an English wedding – the first time I’d been to an English church service, in fact. I tried to think back to films and novels for some clue as to how they did things. Four Weddings and a Funeral was the best I could do.

  I gave up, and picked up the booklet instead.

  St John’s Family Chapel

  Yeadham Hall

  The Marriage of

  Eleanor Eugenie Lydia Bentinck-Stanley

  and

  Ethan Luke Parsons

  “You didn’t answer,” whispered Charlie.

  “God of wonder and of joy: grace comes from you, and you alone are the source of life and love.” Those around me dipped their heads as the minister recited the first prayer. Ethan had his head bowed, but his eyes were fixed on Eleanor and a wide grin was plastered all over his face. It was so good to see him smiling like that: genuinely happy.